Oneshots

The Feather

 Home is empty rolling plains as far as the eye can see and as long as the mind can imagine. Home is a two story town house on a street filled with identical houses and a screened in porch and steps that sag just slightly to the right and Christmas lights up all year round. Home is a small box with black walls and black furniture and scary looking people with black hair and black makeup and wearing black clothes lining the walls and filling the room with the scent of alcohol consumed and clouds of smoke long faded. Home is curled up under a thick blanket, Hello Kitty ripped and sewn back together again with two headphones blasting the sound of a person screaming and drums pounding and guitars blaring. Home is exactly where a boy can be found, cloaked in black from his long shaggy hair all the way down to his polish covered toenails, hugging his knees, breathing choked and tears rolling down his cheek with a trail of black.

He's barely still there, lost in the music and mind far gone from the small mid-western town. His thoughts lay in a place in the middle, halfway between heaven, halfway between hell. Tall spidery trees line his imagination, the clearing filled with dead grass and hard clumps of dirt, a single smooth stone at the center. It's in a graveyard that he seeks shelter, the only place left he still feels at home. He's not alone here, he's accompanied by a girl, translucent skin and scantily clad in a short black dress, cinched tight at the waist and feet bare, toes digging into the prickly grass. She walks slowly towards him, her motions fluid and he stands there, watching her, studying her, taking in every inch of her pale, slender form.

“Hello beautiful.” Her voice rings out crystal clear, the voice of an angel. Her long fingers twist through her black hair and tangle in the wavy flowing curls.

“It's been so long,” he speaks slowly, carefully, “I thought you'd forgotten me.” He bites his lip, the familiar clink of metal on perfect white enamel and reaches out to her raised hand. Their fingertips touch, an electric shock flowing through the connected flesh. His hand doesn't pass through hers, and he lets out a small gasp of shock.

“Never my dear.” She smiles at him, her teeth sparkle in the fading, clouded light almost unnaturally. She twists about casually and he catches a glimpse of something protruding from her back; A wing, skin stretched tight and covered in shiny black and gray feathers.

“Am...am I dead?” he stammers, his voice cracks and fades off into the empty nothingness.

“Yes, my love.” Her wings unfold slightly, the breeze ruffling the feathers. One falls from its place, and is swept up by the wind and followed to its final resting place, the highest crumbling branch in a creaking tree, by two pairs of curious eyes ringed in dark circles.

She opens her wings out all the way, sinewy tendons pulled taut under the feather covered skin. They're beautiful on her, almost like they were designed to be there, upon the back of the child taken too soon. She stretches them out, almost seven feet across, and he stares in awe at the pure muscle rippling through the shoulders of the thin girl.

“I was prepared to wait much longer for you.” Her wings fold down halfway as she steps forward until their lips are almost touching. “It's a shame you had to leave the living so young.”

He looks deep into her eyes, sparkling blue and hidden behind a curtain of hair. “Life just lost all meaning without you angel. I missed you.” He reaches down to place his lips on hers.

“I missed you too my darling.” She pushes her lips up to his and they kiss, the graveyard melting away as their worlds fade to each other. Their bodies press together, so close they almost mesh into one. Her arms wrap around his neck and his around her waist and they pull each other closer and closer.

There's a blinding flash of light and two stubs tear their way through his shirt, quickly stretching and growing into featherless wings, veined skin drawn tight over long hollow bones. She pulls away one of her hands and slips in under his arm, sliding her fingertips over the smooth skin. The veins pulse under her touch and feathers sprout, jet black and long, covering the new wings in a thick coat of sleek protection, the fibers gleaming in the sunlight filtering down.

“You're beautiful, love,” she tells his as they pull apart. He spreads his wing, feeling the air ruffle though the feathers. She watches him silently with wide eyes as he opens and closes them, adjusting to the feel.

The clouds suddenly break apart and a beam of sun lights up the entire graveyard. It shines off the brittle grass and the peeling bark of the trees and the innocent pale skin of the winged couple, the pair of fallen angels. They look up at the sun, at all the hope and warmth beating down upon them. And they look away simultaneously, their raccoon eyes meeting on the way back down.

She spreads her wings confidently and takes in the heat. “Fly with me babe.” She reaches her hand out, pencil-like fingers stretching out for his.

He takes her hand, palm sweaty against her cold, papery skin. “But I don't know how too.” His voice cracks and she squeezes his hand for reassurance.

“Don't think about it. Just spread your wings and let your body take over.”

He opens his wings shakily and she rubs his palm. “I love you. And I believe in you.”

“I. I love you too.” She nods. Together they stretch their wings and take to the sky. They soar hand in hand, slipping through the closing hole just in time, wingtips grazing the clouds.

A long feather falls from his wing and slowly flutters to the ground. It drops to the dry grass just as the clouds seal shut, leaving an empty graveyard, a memory lost and a single jet black feather.